


Son of a bitch

by MelonEthylene



Series: Song Drabbles [4]
Category: Hatfilms, The Yogscast
Genre: Fae manipulation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelonEthylene/pseuds/MelonEthylene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sips is an extremely rich night club owner who knows more about the world of magic and the creatures that inhabit it than the average mortal and is perfectly content to work that to his advantage. Also in which Smiffy is an ass but an ass with a plan.<br/>Potential Sips-meeting-the-Garbage-Court fic. I just love writing all sorts of scenarios for this AU.<br/>It's also partly a vent fic, partly inspired by the song "It's about time" by Young the Giant which, by the way, is a fantASTIC urban magic yogs or mobscast song. 10/10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of a bitch

The night club, as usual, was packed. It was never anything else with Sips’ clubs. He owned one of the most successful chain of nightclubs and bars in the city, and that success could be measured in how thick the forest of bodies dancing to the music was. Nowadays, if the mass of bodies in a club wasn't as pervasive and thick as a 6 foot shag carpet and the smell of sweat, smoke, and alcohol didn't fill every space not occupied by a hot, living creature, a club might as well have been going out of business. This venue was anything but. Sips liked to consider himself an artist really. He took just the right amount of fear, confusion, and claustrophobia mixed delicately with reckless abandon, lust, and cheap alcohol. Any beat or strobe light out of place and the whole thing would be ruined. And, while Sips really didn't like to brag, he'd managed to strike the balance nearly perfect. From the moment anyone walked in, their senses, all six of them, would be bombarded, assaulted, and yet still left begging for more.

Not only was it a perfect trap for unhappy teenagers and lonely adults, it was a perfect hunting ground. An opportunity Sips had decided he wouldn't waste as soon as he learned of the darker side of the world that would be willing to pay for it. He wasn't one to let cash slip by. Many people would probably accuse him of callousness at best and murder at worst, and many non humans did not approve of a mortal inserting himself into their lives. But really, it was just business. Plain and simple. So sue him if he took some extra cash from supernatural creatures to use his clubs as occasional feeding grounds, it was a dog eat dog world out there. And he aimed to be the dog sitting in the corner eating some foie gras as he watched the others tear each other apart.

He tuned out the muffled music he’d been listening to and shook himself from his considerations. His attention turned to a folded sheet of paper propped on a small prettily-wrapped package. It was the latest proposal from some anonymous, blood-thirsty source. He regarded the writing and balanced the package on the sofa arm next to him suspiciously. Whoever they were, they offered £40,000 down payment for the hunting rights in at least three of his clubs spread across the city. They would additionally pay £5,000 for every human they took. Sips hummed as he considered it. At this point he really didn't need the money. It was connections he was after. There wasn't a human on earth who could touch him, but he knew for a fact there was any number of magical creatures who swat him aside as easily as a mosquito. He was determined to either partner with them or make them too afraid of who he knew to try anything. The fact that the proposition was anonymous meant one of two things: they were poor, thus probably less powerful and with fewer connections, and hoping to con him out of a few good customers; or they were extremely rich and connected and felt nervous about this transaction. Which of the two it was, and whether the bargain was worth considering, came down to what was in the package, the "show of good faith" as the letter had said.

He was considering the present when a woman dressed in a smart suit leaned over and tapped his shoulder. Marjory, his secretary and personal body guard. Not human of course, though she looked it. Sips refused to hire anyone not skilled enough in glamour to at least present themselves as human consistently. She whispered something in his ear. He sighed and stood up. There was always some idiot demon or monster who tried to come in, hoping to snatch up whatever they could get. Honestly, some monsters...

"Just get someone to take care of it, yeah?" The woman nodded but pressed her lips together and hesitated. He gave her a glance then sighed. "Well? What is it? C'mon, get the bad news over with."

"Well sir..." She cleared her throat, "You'd best see this for yourself."

"Aw shit. That is never good." Sips groaned as he stood up and went over to a nearby large window that overlooked the floor. "Okay, where is the bastard?" He asked, already scanning.

"There." The woman answered, pointing just as he spotted the intruder.

"Son of a bitch." Sips murmured, staring in disbelief at the figure making its innocuous way across the dance floor. "Son of a fucking bitch!" He said louder, whirling around and sprinting towards the doors to the stairs. The woman jolted in surprise. She was new to the job, she'd get used to it soon enough. She caught up to him quickly as he jogged down the steps.

"What is he?" He demanded.

"Some sort of water creature, we're not sure exactly what. Heavy glamour," For a moment, expression of distaste flickered across her face before her normal professional mask replaced it. Sips had learned early on that most monsters who did not base the majority of their power in glamour tended to dislike those who did. Sips didn’t quite understand it. He personally loved the flashy, cocky nature of most glamour based monsters he met. They did tend to be reckless and idiotic though, and many of the trespassing creatures Sips had to...ah, put down, were glamour ones. From the looks of it this new guy was no different.

Sips shared none of this, merely grunted in acknowledgment, reaching into his pocket for a pair of shades.

"We got security on the way?"

"Ready and waiting sir."

"Fantastic." He reached the end of the stairs and stopped in front of the doors to the dance floor. His breathing slowly evened out and he hurriedly straightened out and buttoned his suit coat. He slid the sunglasses onto his face blinking to get used to the change in lighting. "Okay," he said dryly. "This is gonna be interesting." He twisted a thin silver ring on his left hand once, took a deep breath, then pushed the doors open, striding confidently forward.

The sensory assault he was so proud of hit him as soon as the doors were cracked open. Only through practice did he not so much as flinch as his senses readjusted. He felt Marjory stumble beside him. He'd have to talk to her about that. It wasn't good for any of his associates to show weakness like this. Certainly not around customers and whoever knows what else was prowling the floor. He glanced around at her and immediately regretted it. He'd seen much worse obviously, and he knew what she really looked like, but it was never pleasant to be surprised by her, or anyone's, true form. She rose above him, a good three feet taller, covered in long cream-colored fur. Two horns spiraled up above her head, lumping up near the bottom and continuing on in two narrow ridges around her eyes. Eyes that were, mercifully, pretty much the same as they were when she was human. The rest of her face, however, was wider, longer, and a leathery obsidian black. She frowned down at him.

"Something wrong, sir?" Two mouths filled with razor sharp teeth asked. He'd taken her form in just briefly, and quickly forced his eyes back front, stifling both the jump and curse of surprise. He tapped the side of his glasses.

"Fine, fine. Let's do this." He began moving towards the crowd, and, unlike everyone else shoving their way where they wanted to go, the people parted in front of him. He still could never be sure whether people could instinctively sense who he was or if they all somehow recognized him. It was also possible that they sensed something ominous from the glamour laden being beside him. That wouldn't surprise him. Mortals had a lot more going on than monsters gave them credit for. He would know.

Regardless of why they did it, they did, and Sips made his way fairly effortlessly towards where he'd seen the intruder. Just as Sips spotted the flash of brown-red hair in the crowd that he knew belonged to the man he was looking for, two buff security guards filed in behind him. One was his head of security, Reynold (monsters could have an odd sense of humor), and she was built, in her glamoured form, like a professional body builder. The other was, in fact, some mortal. Former military probably. Sips didn't really bother to keep track; mortals tended not to stay long. They didn't often have the stomach or imagination for it. He didn't really feel like dealing with Rey's (as he called her) true form at the moment and, after the initial fleeting glance, kept his eyes well away.

"How'd this joker get in?" He demanded.

"Guard outside was charmed, sir. Doesn't remember a thing," She replied, voice gruff.

"Sheesh," Sips was impressed despite himself. Though this was one of his smaller venues, the bouncer he'd hired was a decently powerful demon. "This bastard's that powerful?"

"Doesn't look like it huh?" Reynold replied, humor in her tone. She continued more seriously, "We're not sure, but we should expect that he is." Sips nodded in understanding.

The intruder was in his sights now and he narrowed his eyes. This fucking joker. They really needed a good "talking" to. Whoever the hell this guy was, he somehow, impossibly, was wearing Sips' personally tailored leather jacket. There was no doubt either. There his name was, stitched loud and proud on the back along with several flaming designs and rose thorns. Somehow this fupping bastard had gotten his jacket. The jacket that had last been safely stored in the trunk of his car. Suddenly, he had a terrible realization. "Oh shit."

"What is it, sir?" Marjory immediately snapped to attention, while Reynold listened in.

"My car. Send someone to check my car. Pronto, okay?" He avoided looking at either of them but he felt Marjory's presence silently leave his side.

That taken care of, Sips turned his attention back on the thief, taking measure of him through the glasses. He was turned mostly away from them, leaning casually on the bar, chatting up some mortal couple. From the look on both the human’s faces, they'd be more than happy to jump the man and drag him outside for a wild night at the nearest motel. Sips snorted. Classic glamour hunters. Laying on the charm as thickly as Sips buttered his toast. But, studying the man, Sips couldn't really blame the couple either. At least, not based on what he could see of the guy's rear.

He twisted the ring on his finger again. At least the man's true form was human. Those types were more rare. Most magic creatures Sips encountered were a wild jumble of eyes, teeth, and any given combination of fur, feather, or scales. This guy, in contrast, seemed normal. Though...strangely wet. And that was not an innuendo. His hair was plastered down and there was a puddle of water growing on the floor. Something dark green and plant-like was tangled among the man's dark hair. Abruptly, his form flickered. For just a moment a large, jet-black horse stood in his place. Its huge head turned to regard Sips, its eyes burning like fire into his. He twisted his ring again. Well, so much for normal.

The form shifted back, returning to the form of a human again and yes, Sips' judgement of his behind was accurate: the man was extremely attractive. Even without glamour. He was looking straight at Sips now, a smirk clear on his face. He said something to the couple and disappointment was clear on their faces as they pushed away. Sips made his way forward, allowing a similar smirk to plaster his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't the great and powerful Sips!" The horse-man said mockingly, managing to get his words in just before Sips. Damn.

"So I take it you’re Dorothy? Where's the ruby slippers?" Sips replied easily, sliding closer so that his guards could properly tower over the thief.

"Smith actually. Alex Smith," The man flashed an easy grin, and Sips could swear his teeth sparkled with one of those toothpaste commercial effects.

"So, Smiffy," Sips answered, nickname coming easily to his lips and enjoying the momentary look of confusion that passed over hence-christened Smiffy's face. "Why the hell are you wearing my coat."

"It's a nice coat, mate, what can I say?"

"Yeah it is, Smiffy. And I wanna fucking know how you got your grubby paws on it." Sips kept his voice light and dry as a bone. He found that people were more intimidated when they couldn't tell if he was joking or seriously pissed off. In truth, it was usually a bit of both.

"My paws are far from grubby, mate. C'mon, what'd you take me for?" Before Sips could respond to that with a suitably snappy line, he felt a presence at his side and glanced over, nearly swearing to see Marjory. She leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Your car, sir, it’s um... Well, you'd best see for yourself."

"Goddammit Marj you keep saying that." Sips said back, not caring if Smiffy heard. "You're gonna make my hair grey early I swear to god."

"Problems?" Smiffy said, smirk wider now. Sips turned to him, smiling congenially.

"It seems we have a pest problem. Imagine that, Smiffy? Pests! Here in this club!" He spread his arms to accentuate the words. "If you'll excuse me I need to take care of it." He turned without waiting for Smiffy's reply and spoke to Reynold. "Take him. Wait for me to start anything." With that, he went to follow Marjory. He took one step before pausing and turning back. His security guards were approaching the thief menacingly.

"Oh, and Rey?" Reynolds looked at him. "Get my jacket off this fucking joker. Pronto."

* * *

Smith was bodily grabbed and hoisted from his seat at the bar.

"Whoa there mates, I can fucking walk, yeah?" The two guards ignored him. He eyed them, turning towards the mortal one. "Please, mate. I'll come quiet, promise." He laid the glamour and charm as heavy as he could over the words even pressing himself into the guards side. Let's see just what defenses these guys had. The man looked down at him coolly and jerked at his arm.

"Enough." He said. But Smith could swear his voice broke just a fraction and there was a distinct blush on his cheeks, half-hidden under dark sunglasses. So they were just well-trained, not immune. Smith chuckled and was about to try again when a deep voice came from his other side.

"He said enough, Loch Ness."

"Loch Ness?" Smith lolled his head to look at the less human of the pair. Oh dear. Better to not look past the glamour there. As for the nickname, he wasn’t sure whether he should be offended. Why did these guys keep throwing these at him? "You people keep giving me names that are so fucking off."

"So what are you then?" The guard cocked her eyebrow. Ah, so that was her game.

"Wouldn't you like to know." He replied, giving her as wide a smile as he could muster. She grinned, seeming only mildly disappointed. At this point they'd reached a big set of doors towards the back of the club, cordoned off by ropes and watched over by another pair of guards, both human. He blew the one on the right a kiss and laughed as the man blushed a deep scarlet and shifted somewhat uncomfortably, moving his hands in front of his crotch. Apparently, not all the guards were as well trained as Mr. No-Reaction next to him. The guard, Ray he thought her name was, next to him made a disgusted noise and hurriedly dragged him inside.

"Hey mate," Smith said, raising his hands. "Don't blame me if your guards are that weak." The mountain of a human looked down at him. She moved so fast he didn't even see the punch coming.

"Shit!" He cried grasping at his nose to try and stem the blood. "Fuck, c'mon mate what the hell." He tilted his head to the side trying not to get any blood on his clothes. "Better hope none of this gets on your boss' precious jacket. It'd serve you right."

"That reminds me..." With only that as a warning the jacket was nearly ripped off of him and he spun trying to keep his balance and blood from flying everywhere. "Not a big fan of you glamour types." Ray continued. "I was supposed to wait but..." She leaned down menacingly, practically growling. "Stop messing with my people."

"Okay, Christ.” Smith put up a placating hand. “Won't happen again, promise." He straightened up and pretended to wipe dust of his shoulder. Then he turned and winked at the human guard next to him, letting his tongue out to lick his lips suggestively. The next punch had him gagging on the ground. "Haha, whoops." Smith wheezed, clutching his stomach and grinning unabashedly. "Can’t help myself."

* * *

By the time they got him to the medium-sized room and tied him to a heavy wooden chair facing a sofa, he had gotten a black eye and what he was sure was a dislocated shoulder added to his bloody nose and the punch to the stomach. Ray really could not hold back. Or maybe this was her holding back, a possibility Smith didn't really want to consider. Despite his best effort, some blood had gotten on his previously clean white shirt. Fuck, he thought remorsefully, And Trott’s always complaining about what a bitch bloodstains are. At least the bleeding had stopped.

A moment later, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs towards the room, he laughed quietly to himself. He couldn't imagine the club’s proprietor would be happy about the state of his car. Sips pushed his way inside. He was a rather unassuming man. Smith would guess his age to be late 30s to early 40s. He was short in stature and his close-cropped black hair was nothing to speak of. And yet, something in the way he carried himself made him appealing, in a mob-boss, I-could-own-you type of way. Smith also had to admit he hadn't expected the much talked about Sips to be a mortal. He'd envisioned some dark Mage or maybe even a powerful Old Being, even a dragon maybe. But the man in front of him was 100% plain oatmeal mortal.

Though Smith had expected angry, Sips was even fairly expressionless except for a small smile curving his lips. Well, that was weird.

"Pretty fucking impressive, Smiffy. I'll give you that."

"Thanks, mate." What the hell, he thought. Shouldn’t this guy be pissed to hell?. "I try-" Before he could finish, Sips had gotten within arms length and pain exploded in Smith’s already bruised nose. His head snapped back in the chair and blood poured out of his nose onto his shirt and pants. Judging by the throbbing, it was definitely broken now.

"Fugging damnit. Really shoulb start expegting that, shoulbn'd I?" His clogged nose made his words slurred and nasally. Not attractive at all.

"Sorry, Smiffy." Sips said shrugging and shaking out his hand, knuckles slightly red and puffy from hitting Smith. "Payback's a bitch, eh?" Hold on. Canadian? Was that a Canadian accent? Smith had assumed he was from the US, maybe even one of those classic Chicago mobster type without the distinctive accent. But the end of that sentence had sounded distinctly Canadian. Smith laughed out loud, then winced in pain. Sips raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Thoughd Canadian's were supposed to be polide." Smith laughed.

"Honey," Sips replied, smiling widely now. "You ain't never met a Canadian like me." Smith didn’t doubt it for a second.

"So, Smiffy. I got so much fucking magic and shit on my car, how the hell did you get in to just...fuck it up like that?"

"Whad can I say?" Smith answered, already bracing for a blow. He really wished his nose would clear up too. The nasal tone made it hard to pull off the whole "charming rogue" thing. "I'm an experd ad fucking." He turned his head fractionally, hoping to divert the worst of the punishment to his fresh side. Turn the other cheek and all. To his surprise though, no hit came. Ray was glowering at him from nearby but Sips just...laughed. Smith really didn’t get this guy at all.

"I don't fucking doubt it Smiffy." Sips looked down at him with a congenial smile, like Smith was a kid who was hiding stolen candy in his pocket and had one last chance to give it back.

"Look, Alex." He continued, leaning closer to Smiffy. "Can I call you Alex? No, scratch that. Smiffy. Alex doesn't suit you. Look Smiffy, I don't want to hurt you. Truly." He put his hand on his heart. Smith raised an eyebrow in doubt and Sips sighed. "It's nothing personal, you understand. Business and blah blah all that shit. I can't have random jokers just breaking into my cars all over the goddamn place." Sips squatted so the top of his head was about even with Smith's nose. He rested his elbows on Smith's knees and looked him directly in the eye. Abruptly, Smith realized Sips wasn't wearing the sunglasses anymore and he could see the pale blue irises, as cool and unreadable as the man himself.

"Just tell me how," Sips said in a reasonable voice, "and you're free to leave. If not, well..." He backed up and from inside his pocket pulled out a gun, black and gleaming cold in the artificial lighting. "I really don't like using this stuff, y'know but I've found nothing really beats a good ol' pistol. Even with all this magic..." He waved the gun around casually. Only the trim looking woman who'd entered with him earlier flinched. The guards were as immobile as pillars.

Abruptly, Smith's throat went dry. Could it be he was nervous? No, never. This guy was unnerving but he was just a mortal. Yeah, a mortal. And anyway, they had a plan. He would be fine. He glanced around the room. Good, it was here. Everything was on track.

"As much as I'd just love to tell you all my dirty secrets, mate, I just don't really fucking trust you."

"A shame, Smiffy, a damn shame." Sips shook his head like he was truly disappointed and evened the gun towards Smith's leg. "Guess I'll start with the foot then."

"It's about time, don't you think?" Smith said hurriedly, and his voice definitely did /not/ crack. Sips blinked.

"About time for wh-" A large ripping sound suddenly tore through the room, drowning him out. The package that was resting on the floor next to the sofa shivered and split into an impossibly long, narrow rend.

"What the-" Ray gaped.

"Did any of you jokers check him for a fucking EARPIECE!" Sips yelled over the tearing noise, seeming much quicker to comprehend the situation than the others. Smith grinned, feeling the small piece of plastic in his ear that was allowing Trott to listen in to the whole conversation.

The woman by Sips’ side went dead still. Then she abruptly reached forward and swung Sips around behind her, shoving him into the closed doors behind them, shielding him with her body against whatever was coming out of the rip in the ground. There was a long moment of silence. Long enough that the guards began to look uncomfortable, like maybe there was nothing wrong with a massive spacerip in the floor.

Then Ross roared out of the ground, eyes flashing, blue tail glinting, and baseball bat swinging. Smith whooped in exhilaration and wiggled in excitement. His chair wobbled.

"Oh shit." He went down backwards smacking his head against the floor. Great. Now he couldn't even watch the action. He'd really been looking forward to the show, Ross was extremely sexy when beating people to shit with his bat. Smith sighed, feeling his nose throb. This certainly could've gone better. But hey, they were in, they'd grab the money and be out in no time. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and listened to the sounds of a gargoyle fighting off several humans and one huge lump of monster flesh.

* * *

Sips had just enough time to see an angry figure with glinting blue and some large, silver weapon, burst out of the tear in the ground before he was shoved hurriedly outside the door by Marjory.

"Hurry sir, get out of here." She whispered to him frantically, "Go out the back, not through the club, we don't know how many more of them they are." Then she shut the door and he heard the click of a lock. Muttering darkly to himself, he turned and strode quickly away, pace just short of a jog, towards the back exit.

Honestly, he was surrounded by idiots. Firstly, they hadn't even checked that Smiffy guy for any sort of non-magic wire in case he had accomplices. They should've known the guy outside hadn't been this joker's doing. Smiffy's m.o. was obviously one that left his victims with plenty to remember. And whoever checked Sips' mail had clearly done a half-hearted job, probably checking for the usual traps, bombs, and curses, not even bothering to look for a potential teleportation anchor. Seriously, he was a mortal without a drop of magic in him and even he knew to do that much.

And what did these people, or monsters, or whatever, want anyway? To kidnap him? If that were the case it seemed like they would've done it in the club where people would make fighting difficult. Or even outside, using the jacked up car as bait. So why else would they do this?

"Aw shit," he said aloud. The safe. Of course. He'd led them right to the safe where he stored a decent amount of backup cash and, more importantly, several powerful magical artifacts he had no every day use for. There was a combination but...he was sure there was some magical charm or something to retrieve it from the memory of one of the guards. Honestly, magic could be so aggravating. You could do almost literally fucking anything with it. There was just no way to guard against everything.

He stopped for a moment just before the door to the back, the one that led out to the parking lot. Maybe if went back… No, that would be stupid. He had his defenses, but he couldn't take on two full-fledged monsters, especially if they managed to take down Marjory and Reynolds. And if they didn't take his guards down he had nothing to worry about anyway.

Sighing again, he pushed the door open. The cold air and distant sounds of traffic welcomed him like an old friend. It'd been awhile since he roamed the night streets, his schedule kept him kind of as a vampire, sleep through the days, work through the nights, either at a club or remotely from some house. Either way, not much opportunity to run reckless under the stars. The smell of it brought old memories back to the surface, along with a familiar ache in his gut and chest that always accompanied his thoughts of home.

Sips quickly shook himself. Now was not the time to get nostalgic. Now was the time to get in his car and get out. He could retreat to any of the nearby safe houses, just on the off chance he really was the target, and make a few calls. He’d regroup and make sure to find and track down every single bastard who was in on this little plot. They would regret trying to steal from him. As much as he liked their style, he had to send a message: no funny business without debilitating, probably fatal, consequences.

Now just to find his...car. The realization hit and he groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He jogged quickly down the stairs leading down to the lot and scanned around, thinking. His only option at this point was… He sighed again loudly. This really wasn't his night. He hadn't expected to use his old skills anytime soon but maybe the nostalgia flash he'd had earlier was a premonition.

He hurriedly searched around the walls until he found a thin, smooth strip of metal. Then he scanned the lot until he found a car that wouldn't grate on his sensibilities. To his surprise, he found one that was pretty much perfect. In fact, he was pretty sure he could remember eyeing this car appreciatively at some point last month. He thought he could even remember offering the young man driving it a decent amount of cash...He shook himself. If it was the same car, whatever, it didn't mean anything. It probably wasn't anyway.

He hurriedly made his way over, conscious that he'd wasted a good deal of time with his rambling thoughts. Maybe he really was getting old. To his surprise and absolute delight, the window to the back seat was open, he didn't have to even bother with jimmying it open. He considered unlocking it right then. He thought he could probably work fast enough to disable the alarm that no one would notice the brief blaring. He hesitated, hand hovering over the lock, then he pulled his arm back out and wriggled his way inside. Best not to risk it. Besides, no one was around to see him acting like such a dunce.

He landed ungainly and gracelessly in the back seat. It really was not his night. He'd be mortified for any of his customers, human or otherwise, to see him in such a state. Just as he was thinking about how grateful he was that no one was around, he heard voices. Oh fucking fantastic, he thought, freezing in place. The voices got closer. They were loud and boisterous, but Sips could tell by the lack of slur they were all sober.

It sounded like there were two, no wait, three of them, and they sounded very chuffed for some reason. He just had to wait for them to go by and then he could put his plan into action. He held his breath as they got closer, lowering his head below the window frame. He just had to wait… And then, unbelievably, the car beeped, unlocking itself. I'm fucked, Sips thought to himself, tone frank and dry even in his mind. This is it, I will never live this down.

The voices got very loud and Sips could see their corresponding silhouettes outside the windows. Now that they were this close he realized that one of the voices sounded...familiar. No fucking way. And yet, just then the drivers door open and, standing in the doorway, was Smiffy. He was still talking across the car to whoever had just opened the passenger seat. A grin split his face from ear to ear - despite his bruised and swollen nose - and he was wearing, that son of a bitch, he was wearing Sips' jacket again. Before Sips could react, the door at his feet opened, and a person began getting in the car, long, clear-blue tail pricking Sips' leg a bit as the man maneuvered sideways to slide in. Then the guy looked down. Bright blue eyes met pale ones and the horned man froze.

"What the fuck," he said, staring at Sips sprawled out messily in the back seat. His voice had gone falsetto in surprise and indignation. Sips looked over to see Smiffy and some other guy with short brown hair now staring at him in shock. The silence stretched between them all, taut and quivering.

"Well," Sips said, managing to give them his best winning smile, as if he hadn't just been found in the back seat of the car of the guys who had just robbed him. "This is awkward."


End file.
